


The Dragon and the Stag

by ninjamcgarrett



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Fluff, M/M, Smut, dracoharry, harrydraco - Freeform, seriously all the gloriously long and fluffy and feels for these two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjamcgarrett/pseuds/ninjamcgarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nine years since The Battle of Hogwarts and Draco has denounced his family and goes by the name of Draco Black now. Living in a small town in the Highlands of Scotland, Draco spends his days running the town's potions shop (The Dragon's Cauldron) and grumbles about the three Gryffindors (Angelina, Dean, and Seamus) who have befriended him. All was quiet in his world until the day Harry Potter shows up - forced into a yearlong sabbatical by the Ministry from his job as an Auror, nursing a very nasty contained curse in his hip, and in need of Draco's potion skills. Harry isn't happy to be sent on vacation, even if he is living at Sirius' old cottage on the outskirts of town. Draco and Harry strike a tenuous bargain - they call a truce to their old feud while Draco helps Harry heal from his wound. As they spend time together, both men realize that time has changed them both and that perhaps, old sparks of hatred are now becoming new sparks of something else entirely. (I promise it's ninety-nine percent fluff and smut and slow-burn feels!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girl0nfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/gifts), [queerhazeleyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerhazeleyes/gifts).



He was known as the miracle worker, the chemist, the herbalist, the potions maker. Everyone in the small town tucked into the Scottish highlands knew that Draco Malfoy was a wizard and a bloody good one. They also knew that he wished to leave the war behind him and make a new name for himself, one that wasn’t tied to his dark history and his even darker family. He prided himself on helping people, atoning for his past sins, and ignoring the larger wizarding community. His life was a quiet one, filled with a few people in the town that had become his surrogate family, and his days were centered around his work.

Nine years had passed since the Wizarding War. Shortly after the battle, Draco had cut all ties with his family. As much as it had pained him to no longer see his mother, he knew it had to be done. Lucius had nearly destroyed their family with his fanatical devotion to the Dark Lord. Draco quietly traded letters with his mother now, but he had not seen her – or his father – since the day Voldemort had fallen. Once he had effectively disowned himself from his family, Draco had packed his bags and moved to a small village in the Scottish highlands. Using most of the money in his name, Draco purchased a small shop in the center of the village and renovated the second floor to a cozy little apartment. Within the month he had opened the doors of _The Dragon’s Cauldron_ and lived above his shop.

The village was small by anyone’s standards, but suited Draco’s needs. It held no more than three hundred occupants – most of them wizards and witches, the rest were Muggles. Strangely, the Muggles knew of the wizards and loved them. They came to the magically gifted for healing, for love, for help. In return, the Muggles protected the secret presence of the magical community in their sleepy and isolated village. The town didn’t often get visitors, but when they did, the Muggles gently warned the wizarding community to lay low on the magical front and try to blend in (which didn’t always go so well). Most of the Muggles in the town were married to witches or wizards and many hoped that one day, other towns in the UK would follow suit.

When Draco had opened his shop nine years before, everyone had known who he was and had been reluctant to go to him. He specialized in potions and herbal treatments and remedies. After the events of the War, he wanted to help others and try to repay his debt to the community. Soon enough, the town figured out that he was nothing like his family name – and finally acquiesced to his plea to be known as Draco Black instead of Draco Malfoy. In the intervening nine years, they had welcomed him into the town, made him a part of the family, and trusted him completely. A few of the residents had even adopted him into their families. Surprisingly, it was three Gryffindors that had taken him under their collective wing.

Angelina Johnson, who taught physical education at the local primary school along with coaching the youth football club, had been the first to befriend him. She had been sent to his shop to purchase a remedy for a sprained ankle one of the boys in her youth football club had sustained during practice. Over time, she kept coming back, having realized that Draco was a gifted potions master – and desperately in need of a friend, even if he would never admit to it. Eventually, she invited him to dinner one night and they had begun a tentative bond. Now, she popped into his shop twice a week to pick up supplies and keep him company during the afternoon lull.

The second year Draco lived in the tiny village, Angelina had drug in a very sick Seamus Finnigan, who was spluttering about not going to a bloody Slytherin for help with the very potent respiratory bug he was suffering from. The cold had mutated oddly, Draco discovered, as every time Seamus sneezed, any object in his line of fire would catch fire from the sparks that would fly from his nose and then proceed to explode. Between bouts of laughter, Draco had brewed a remedy for Seamus while Angelina ran interference with the fiery sneezes. After he had stopped accidentally lighting things on fire, Seamus had realized what Angelina had the year before – Draco was a brilliant man, and perhaps now that he was far away from the larger wizarding community, his sour temperament had mellowed a bit.

The week after Seamus’s exploding cold, he had practically hauled his boyfriend, Dean Thomas, into the shop. Seamus had spent ten minutes showing off Draco’s shop to Dean, expounding the Slytherin’s skill to his boyfriend. Dean had finally halted Seamus’ excited talk with a kiss and asked Draco if he’d like to come over for dinner that night as a thank you from them for saving their apartment and most likely half the village from exploding.

After that, it became a weekly routine on Sunday afternoons for Draco to go across the street to Seamus’ pub, _The Flying Quaffle,_ and watch British soccer matches on the sole television in the pub with the boys and Angelina. Dean spent his days running the local newspaper – a hybrid of wizarding and muggle news that decidedly ignored anything to do with the rest of the world. Perhaps that was the reason Draco loved the town most; it was far away from anyone who cared about his past and small enough that he could feel like he belonged. The town was quiet, peaceful, full of life, and Draco finally had a family of his choosing. Everything was perfect – until that git Harry Potter waltzed into town and turned his whole world upside down.


	2. Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry Potter walks into Draco's shop, Draco - well, beware flying herbs, bottles, and - scarab beetles?

Monday morning in the small village dawned cold and misty – typical for that part of the Highlands. He had slept in fits and starts the previous night, odd dreams visiting him as he tossed in the large bed he had indulged in when he’d first moved into the apartment. Visions of his old Quidditch team and Slytherin friends had appeared, yet when they had seen him, instead of greeting him amiably, they had spat in his face and called him a traitor and a coward to their old ways. Near dawn, Draco had sat up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, and wondering what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

Shaking it off, Draco had puttered in his kitchen for an hour, making tea and breakfast as he read that day’s paper, before heading down to open his shop with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He spent twenty minutes refilling a few bottles of herbs on his shelves and replenishing some of the tamer potions he kept up front. While it was still quiet, he ducked into the back room to check on the potions that had been brewing, making sure that Mrs. Hodges’ arthritis potion was ready to bottle. Not long after he had moved into town, the principal of the local primary school had come in one day in search of an herbal supplement for her recently diagnosed arthritis. Draco had thought she was a Muggle who believed in New Age healing techniques until she had brought her husband in one day, who ran the local broomstick repair shop.

Over the years, she had adopted him as a son and brought him homemade casseroles, stews, and other delicious concoctions as a way to thank Draco for continually fiddling with her anti-arthritis potion in an attempt to lessen her pain and stiffness levels. After the third casserole in two weeks had appeared, Draco had asked her about the sudden urge to supply him with food. Mrs. Hodges had replied that all four of her boys were out of the house and had families of their own and that she sorely missed having people to cook for aside from her husband, who “would eat anything I put in front of him, regardless of what it tastes like”.

As Draco carefully ladled that week’s dose of her brew into a vial, he smiled at the memory of her patting his cheek and telling him that his willingness to put up with her experimenting with new recipes was all the encouragement she needed. In return, Draco had refused to take any form of payment for the potions he brewed for her, telling the principal that he considered the food his payment. Secretly, Draco hoped that at the end of the year when she retired, that Mrs. Hodges would open a restaurant or bakery in town. He wasn’t the only one who loved her food and chipper attitude.

The doorbell chimed and Draco heard quiet humming as someone handled a few glass jars full of herbs in the front of his shop. He poked his head through the door to see who it was and smiled.

“Morning, Mrs. Hodges! I was just finishing bottling your brew. Be out shortly!”

The older woman untied the kerchief from around her neat silver curls and waved at him. “Bless you, take all the time you need.”

When he emerged a moment later, she was waiting at the counter with a covered plate and two jars of herbs.

“I need an ounce each of rosehips and juniper, dear. And I brought you some chocolate chip butterscotch chip cookies.”

Draco lifted the foil off the plate and nearly drooled on the counter at the sight of the large and definitely gooey in the middle cookies.

“You know me too well, Mrs. Hodges,” Draco replied as he took a sip of his coffee.

Mrs. Hodges’ face crinkled at the smell of the coffee. “Draco, dear, the coffee has got to go. It’s so horrible for you. Tea is what you need; caffeine but without half the horrible side effects on your body.”

“I’m rubbish at brewing the stuff myself, though. Your Muggle convention of a coffeemaker is much easier to use.”

A grin appeared as she spoke, “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to set to concocting the perfect tea that you won’t be able to turn down.”

As he measured out the herbs onto the scales, Draco chuckled. “Don’t worry about that, Mrs. Hodges.” Once he had bottled her herbs, Draco said, “Now, I futzed with your potion again over the weekend. Pour four drops of it once a day into your evening tea. The potion will work best while you’re asleep and help with the morning stiffness more than if you were to take it with breakfast. If you’re feeling unusually sore one night, a fifth drop is okay.”

Draco snagged a cookie and bit into it as he placed her order in a small bag. The older woman smiled kindly at him before brushing a stray bit of rosehip that had found its way into his short hair.

“Thank you, love. Let me know what you think of the cookies later in the week.”

He took another bite of the cookie and mouthed around it, “Mrs. H, you really outdid yourself this time!”

As she made her way out of the shop, Mrs. Hodges chuckled. “I don’t know if I should be charmed or worried that I understood that. Cheers, Draco!”

After she left, _The Dragon’s Cauldron_ remained quiet for another hour. Draco put the time to good use, cleaning the shelves, starting a new batch of potions, and munching on more of Mrs. Hodges’ cookies. Close to nine, a few Muggles and Dean and Seamus wandered into the shop. The Muggles were in to pick up weekly potions and Seamus was helping Dean browse the shelves for ingredients they needed for a homebrew. Draco popped into the back room to quickly bottle the weekly prescriptions and while he was occupied with vials and bubbling liquids, he vaguely heard the front door to his shop open and close. Dean and Seamus’ raised voices reached his ears shortly thereafter.

“Blimey, haven’t seen you in a while!”

“How’ve you been, mate?”

The voice that answered their excited and surprised questions was low; it held a familiar timbre to it, but Draco couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was an old schoolmate of his; yes, that must be it, based off the shudder that ran down his spine as the man spoke once more. His finished bottling the potions and came out of the backroom. Setting the bottles on the counter to wrap and package, he looked up, his customary instructions spiel dying on his lips at the sight of who was standing in his shop.

A white-hot flame of inexplicable rage exploded in Draco’s chest – and the next thing he knew, he was grabbing the nearest bundles of herbs and potions ingredients and flinging them at the man before him.

“Get out, you git! What are you doing here, you fucker?”

Grabbing a handful of sage, Draco aimed for the man’s head. “I moved as far away as possible from you and your bloody fame as possible. Isn’t that enough?”

Flinging a bottle of scarab beetles, he continued to yell as the two Muggles skittered out of his shop. “All I wanted was peace and you just had to come find. What, to torment me? Rub it in my face that you’re The Bloody Boy Who Lived and I’m The Boy Who Almost Killed Dumbledore? Get out of my shop, you bastard!”

Draco grabbed a bottle of armadillo bile and raised his hand to throw it. Dean, hopping to avoid the scarab beetles that now littered the floor, raised his wand and cast a Full Body Bind at Draco, halting the shop owner’s movements before he could toss the bottle in his hand.

“Draco!” Seamus yelled. “What’s gotten into you?”

Very quietly, his eyes dark and guarded, Harry spoke to Draco finally. “I came to see you about brewing a few potions for me, not tormenting you.”

Bound as he was, unable to move anything save his eyes, it was then Draco noticed the cane Harry leaned heavily on and his rather gaunt and pale appearance. The last time he had seen or heard anything about The Boy Who Lived, Draco had thought him to be in perfect health, not looking as if he were a prime candidate for Death any day.

Seeing the anger slowly bleed out of Draco’s face, Dean raised an eyebrow and asked, “If I let you out of the Bind, will you promise to behave?”

Draco’s lips twitched at the scolding parental tone to Dean’s question but he blinked his consent. Dean waved his wand and Draco scrambled to regain his balance, the jar of armadillo bile already safely in Seamus’ possession. Draco looked his old rival up and down before speaking.

            “What the bloody hell happened to you, Potter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. H will be a recurring side character! And more of her recipes will be appearing! Each chapter that features one of her creations will feature the recipe for it in that chapter's notes! All recipes are favorites of the author. (Recipe for this chapter to be updated when I'm back from my vacation at the lake in a few days! Cheers!)


	3. Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco's glower is turned on and off like a switch and Dean and Seamus find it entirely too funny. Guest-starring a glimpse of what happened to Harry!

Dean and Seamus suddenly pretended to be very not interested whatsoever in the discussion between Draco and Harry, instead setting to work cleaning up the littering of Draco’s rage that were scattered over the shop’s floor. As they began cleaning off ingredients and restoring them to their rightful jars and places, Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“Look, if you’re going to continue to give me lip, I’ll just leave. I don’t know why Angelina even suggested I come in here. She must have gone momentarily daft and forgotten about how things were between us.”

As Harry turned slowly, grumbling under his breath, Draco reached out a hand. “Wait! Ange – Angelina told you to come here?”

When Harry looked over at his shoulder, Draco sighed. He motioned for Harry to follow him and led the other wizard to the counter, pulling the stool out from behind it and motioning for Harry to take it. It took Harry a moment to settle on the stool, moving gingerly and grimacing as he gently lowered himself onto the stool finally.

Taking the gruff edge out of his voice, Draco asked once more, “What happened to you, Potter?”

“Nasty run-in with a Dark Wizard,” Seamus interjected from somewhere on the floor where he and Dean were gathering scarab beetles. “Ow!” he exclaimed when Dean beaned him in the back of the head with a beetle for interrupting.

Harry nodded, turning back to Draco. “He’s right. I’m an Auror now; have been since the War. Was tracking Oakentree and finally found him.”

Draco suppressed a groan, beginning to realize what must have happened. John Oakentree had begun gaining power and followers in the last six months to the point that the wizarding community had begun to grow nervous, remembering that Voldemort’s rise to power had started this way. The man had been known for his curses – experimental, highly dangerous, and as yet, wizarding doctors hadn’t been able to find cures or reversal spells for any of them.

Harry motioned to his left hip. “I found the git. He hit me with one of his curses. The doctors were able to contain it to my hip and keep it from spreading – its original intent, but I can barely use it now. The Ministry sent me packing on a yearlong sabbatical – effective immediately. ‘To rest and recover’, as they put it. Basically, they’re putting me out to pasture in case the doctors don’t find a cure for the curse. If they don’t, I’ll never be able to work as an Auror again.”

A tone of grief and helpless frustration entered Harry’s voice and in that moment, Draco felt for him. It shocked him, really; in all his years of knowing Harry Potter, Draco had only ever felt disgust or deep hatred for the man. Now, he felt sympathy for him, understanding that feeling of being stuck and forced into something he didn’t want to do.

“Anyway,” Harry said, dragging Draco’s thoughts back to the present, “while I’m on sabbatical, there are a few potions I have to take to keep the curse from spreading. When I came into town today, Angelina told me to come here for them, said the owner was brilliant with brews – and neglected to tell me just who the potions master was.”

Harry grew silent then, regarding Draco with a wary gaze. He was waiting for Draco’s agreement to help or his refusal to have anything to do with him. It would be so much easier to turn Harry away; Draco’s life had been simple and quiet until now. He had nothing to do with his old life, especially anything – or anyone – that dredged up painful memories of his time at Hogwarts. The Draco of old would have sneered in Harry’s weary face and booted him out of the shop without a second thought. Now, however, Draco knew that he would never forgive himself if he did just that.

He sighed and nodded. “All right, I’ll brew the potions for you. But,” he held up a finger, “there will no coddling.”

Harry smirked and said, “Deal.”

Reaching in his jacket, Harry pulled out three long pieces of parchment and handed them over to Draco. As Draco scanned the ingredients lists and instructions, Harry spoke once more.

“The docs said I need fresh brews every three days. How much is this going to run me?”

Draco finished reading over the parchments and said absently, “Give me a day to gather some of the rarer ingredients and brew a trial batch. I’ll have an estimate for you morning after tomorrow – Wednesday, yeah?”

Harry nodded, slowly getting to his feet. “I’ll Apparate in at nine that morning.”

Without a backward glance, he left the shop, heavily favoring his left hip, knuckles white on the cane. Draco sighed, running a hand over his short hair as he surveyed the order that had been restored to his shop. Seamus stood with his arms crossed, Dean his hands in his pockets, and both men were regarding their friend with pensive looks.

Draco looked at his two friends then and his brow furrowed. “What?”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “It just amazes me sometimes – catches me off-guard how much you’ve changed since you moved here, Draco.”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Draco said, “Well, you couldn’t expect me to tell him no and kick him out just because we were gits to each other back in the day.”

Seamus grinned like a Cheshire cat and said, “You’ve gone soft for Harry Potter!” at the same time that Dean said, “You finally admitted you were a git to him!”

Seeing their smiling faces and realizing that they were ribbing him, Draco rolled his eyes and glowered. “Out. Now. Both of you. Out of my shop – what happened today will never be discussed ever again. Understood?”

As Dean pushed Seamus toward the door, he grinned and said, “Sure, sure. We still on for dinner with Ange and Mrs. H tomorrow night?”

Draco dropped the glower and nodded with a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, glancing over the parchments Harry had left him.

Both men left his shop and Draco heard Seamus mock-whisper, “You’d think it was a switch he could turn off and on, that glower of his.”

Dean chuckled while opening the door and ducked as Draco chucked a bundle of sage at Seamus’ head.

“Out, you loon!” he scolded lovingly, sharing a grin with Dean as the two Gryffindors left his shop.

Silence descended on Draco’s shop once Dean and Seamus had left and Draco sighed, surveying the herbs around him.

“Draco Black, just what have you gotten yourself into?” he mused quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit that Seamus says about Draco's glower is taken from the interview where a television show host asks Tom Felton to do "the glower" and Tom says, "Oh no, I couldn't possibly this early in the morn-" and then he glowers like it is a switch. Hence the joke from Seamus. Cheers!


	4. Herbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds solace in his garden and lets his thoughts wander while tending to his plants - magical and Muggle alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, apologies for taking forever to update. I moved from the States to Europe in September and life has been hectic with that kind of a move. I'm hoping to update this fic more regularly now that I'm settled and in a routine here in Europe.
> 
> Second, I hope you all enjoy Draco's garden and the variety! I'll be adding more to the list of plants in his garden in following chapters, especially since several key scenes are placed there.

Looking around the shop, Draco realized he was running low on the herbs he needed for Harry’s potions. Muttering very quietly to himself about the strange turn his life had taken, Draco performed a locking spell on the doors of his shop and Apparated to a spot just outside of the town. The fog was still prominent as he made his way down a quiet lane, past a small carriage house. Yew, holly, and elm trees surrounded a cottage that was closer to the Victorian standard for a country manor than a cottage. Draco lifted the lock on the side gate – a tradition he had long held when coming here, rather than using magic to open it.

As he opened the small shed behind the country house, Draco inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of damp earth and fresh blooms. The small cottage, carriage house, and gardens belonged to a distant branch of his family tree. No one had lived there in almost fifty years, but both houses were still in excellent shape, thanks in part to anti-wear charm and Draco popping in to clean them once a month. When he had first moved to the town, he had toyed with the idea of living there, but had decided against it, wanting instead to live in a place of his own choosing and as far from any connection to his family that he could find. The cottage and its grounds were beautiful though and Draco had found himself coming here on an almost daily basis the first few months after settling in the town.

The peace and quiet the woods afforded him had been blessed and Draco had found a way to keep his mind occupied and his hands busy by tending the incredibly dilapidated garden. It had proved fruitful in yielding herbs and plants necessary for his potions, cultivated by his own hand, and gave him an escape whenever the ghosts of his past proved too much for him. In the intervening years, it had become a habit for Draco to Apparate to his garden every few days and tend to his plants. Spending time up to his elbows in soil and good old-fashioned Muggle gardening techniques had been the best outlet he could find for his inner agitation that still bubbled to the surface every now and again.

Draco hauled the basket with trowel, spade, small rake, shears, and gloves out of the shed and walked through the garden. Over the years, he had turned the small and rundown garden into a veritable wild forest, a riot of color and scent. He had warded it against intruders, just in case any Muggle stumbled across it. Small cherry blossom and apple trees ringed in the space while a row of large hedges created a large circle closed off from the rest of the area, creating Draco’s private heaven. Patches of different herbs and spices grew at random intervals inside the hedge. Roses, geraniums, clematis, irises, lilies, peonies, and a variety of wild flowers were spaced over the ground inside, radiating out in such a way that the tallest climbing roses and clematis were near the hedges and the shorter plants and ground-creepers were nearer the center. Small strawberry and raspberry plants grew between the irises and lavender stalks wafted in the foggy air between beds of geraniums and nasturtiums. Johnny jump ups and violets stayed close to the ground but provided a burst of color against the dark soil. Tiger lilies held their bright orange, exotic blooms up defiantly against the chill in the air, seeking for any hint of sunlight in the dour weather.

At the center of the garden, once he had wandered through the rings of hedges, roses, plants, and flowers, Draco set down his basket on a patch of grass that grew in a circle around a Greek statue. He gazed up at the marble face of Persephone and smiled at the sight of the small rosebud that was still in her hand; Draco had placed it there on his last visit on a whim of delight at the early bloom.

Shedding his cloak and rolling up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt, Draco looked about for the telltale small yellow blossoms of the rue plant. One of the potions Harry’s hip required had included rue. Before setting to work clipping small stalks from the plant, Draco pulled the parchment lists from his back pocket and looked them over once more. Upon a second glance, Draco worried his bottom lip between his teeth. It seemed that the healers at St. Mungo’s had thrown everything but the cauldron into the potions for Harry, as if they were throwing different things at the curse, hoping it would combat the injury.

Draco shook his head, muttering about the nerve of some idiotic healers while gently collecting small leaves and blooms from the rue bush. He bottled them in a large glass vial, hoping it would last him through two trial batches of the potion and the final one he would give to Harry in two days.

Draco was well-versed in all manner of potions – having found his passion in the wizarding world during his first year at Hogwarts, Draco had pursued his education in potions and the art of crafting them almost obsessively. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco was granted a pardon and he took the rigorous tests required to become a certified potions master. Having obtained his certificate from the Ministry, Draco had packed his bags shortly after that and disappeared from the bulk of the wizarding world, preferring instead the quiet life of a small town in the Scottish Highlands.

As he culled a few leaves and buds of daisy and dittany, Draco’s mind began wandering, going over his meeting with Harry from earlier. He cringed at the recollection of almost throwing armadillo bile at his old nemesis, although Draco would have put more than a few galleons on a bet that Harry would have done the same if he had been in Draco’s position. Seamus and Dean were right though; he had gone soft. Draco didn’t like to ruminate on his Hogwarts days, but with almost ten years between now and then, he _did_ have to admit that he had been a giant prick to everyone.

A soft rustling and then a honk intruded on the quiet air. Draco looked up from the mistletoe plant, where he was gathering its berries, and found the source of the noise. He stood, brushing dirt off his knees and walked to the Honking Daffodils. Draco gently brushed his hand across the blooms, a smile on his face.

“Hush,” he admonished with a laugh as the blooms bounced and honked more in delight at his touch. “We don’t want the Muggles to find you.”

It was an empty threat though, as Draco had long ago protected his garden from prying eyes. Any self-respecting wizard with magical plants would have done the same when Muggles lived so near.

Having finished collecting the ingredients he needed, Draco quickly gathered a few fresh blooms to bundle together for dinner the following night at Mrs. Hodges’ house. He replaced his basket and tools in the shed, locked both it and the gate behind him before Apparating back into town.

Draco spent the rest of the day in the back workroom of his shop, brewing the potions Harry needed and wondering just how effective they would be. If a team of healers could only stem the curse and not cure it, Draco knew that Harry’s injury was a lot worse than he was letting on. Perhaps when he popped in the day after, Draco could press him for more information.


	5. Brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seamus holds down the shop while Draco wrestles with brewing Harry's potions - which leads to explosions, green clouds of gas, and an idea.

Over the next forty-eight hours, Draco worked tirelessly on the potions for Harry. Two of the three potions required extensive brewing, taking hours out of his time to manage his shop. Draco sent a hurried letter to Seamus, asking for help during the day in running the shop. When Seamus had arrived early Tuesday morning, he found Draco holed up in the back room of his shop, three of his five cauldrons bubbling away, ingredients and parchment everywhere. Draco’s harried expression had told Seamus everything he’d needed to know. Motioning for Draco to go back to brewing, Seamus had ducked out of the room and helped Draco’s customers the rest of the day, ducking only once when an explosion – followed by rather loud and inventive expletives from Draco – sounded from the workroom.

During a quiet moment after the lunchtime rush, Draco finally emerged from the back, finding Seamus with his nose buried in a book. Seamus looked up from his perch behind the counter and chuckled.

“Uh, mate, you’ve got something in your hair.”

Draco’s brows furrowed for a moment as he reached up and brushed his hands through his hair. He found no less than two dittany leaves and a petal from the rue flower tucked between the short strands – he had long ago stopped wearing his hair slicked back like his father, preferring instead to keep his hair cropped short and fashionable after the Muggle trend. He let the leaves and petal drift to the floor as he sighed.

“Any luck?” Seamus asked, motioning over his shoulder to the workroom.

Snagging one of Mrs. Hodges’ cookies from the ever-dwindling pile on the counter, Draco paced the front of the small shop, stretching his legs.

“I’ve had two explosions, one of my cauldrons nearly melted, and apparently, if you add the daisy _before_ the rue – as the recipes call for – this horrid stench appears in a green cloud. The more time I spend trying to brew those damned potions, the more I’m convinced those idiots at St. Mungo’s were playing with fire; they didn’t have a clue what they were fighting with the potions.”

Seamus chewed his bottom lip, resisting eating his fourth cookie of the day. “Well, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it? I mean, they’re supposed to be the top in their field, right? These potions are supposed to do Harry some good, not try to kill him with a green cloud of gas.”

Draco tilted one bottle of newt's eyes back on the shelf, letting it catch the light; he seemed to be running low on it. He sighed before turning to look at his old friend.

“That’s the thing, though. The more I futz with these potions, the more I’m starting to think that they’re a stopgap of sorts.” When Seamus looked puzzled, Draco elaborated. “Harry said they sent him packing on a sabbatical to heal, but I don’t think that was true. These potions only keep the curse in one place and from having too much of an effect on the rest of his body. They don’t do anything in the way of healing though. The healers are way out of their depth and throwing anything and everything at Harry in the hopes it’ll stave off the inevitable.”

Seamus gulped. “You mean – what’s happened to – ”

“To the rest of Oakentree’s victims, yes. Death.” Draco dropped down onto the stool opposite Seamus and put his chin in his hands. “I don’t know how long these potions will work – or what to do when they begin to fail.”

Silence passed for a minute as Seamus gently pushed a cookie at Draco, who nibbled dejectedly at it. The Irishman perked up after a minute.

“Hang on, I think I have an idea.” When Draco looked up, pushing the leftover crumbs of his cookie around the counter, Seamus grinned. “Something like this happened to Dumbledore during our sixth year, yeah?”

Draco nodded, the wheels in his mind beginning to turn. “That’s right. From one of – Voldemort’s – horcruxes.” He repressed a shudder at the memories of the monster that still haunted his dreams after almost a decade. “But Snape was the one who treated him. And he’s – well, you know.”

Seamus appeared undeterred. “Right, but he left everything to Harry. So maybe, Snape – ”

“Kept notes!” Draco finished, a small grin appearing. “Well, it’s worth asking ol’ Lightning Bolt.”

“And in the meantime, you should owl the boys at St. Mungo’s. See what they’re doing in terms of finding a cure and what they’ve done when treating previous victims of Oakentree. Might give you an idea of where to start researching and experimenting.”

Snagging a second cookie, Draco frowned. “When did I sign on to save Potter’s life? I thought I was just supposed to brew those potions, not find a bloody cure.”

Seamus sighed. “Draco.” When he looked up, Seamus smiled softly. “I know you. You’re a good man at heart. Harry is hurting – badly. He needs all of us, especially you, right now. If he has any hope of surviving and beating this thing, we need to do everything we can to help.” When Draco raised one eyebrow, Seamus laughed. “Yes, yes, it doesn’t need saying. He saved all our lives, it’s the least we can do, blah, blah, blah. But that’s not the point. It’s about one good man helping another. Not some repayment and long-past debts due and all that rubbish.”

Draco nodded. “You’re right. I’m just – surprised is all. Yesterday morning, my life was calm and all neat and tidy. Now? Harry Potter is asking me for help, I’ve agreed, and what’s worse, I have a giant stink cloud in my workroom that refuses to budge.”

It was a good thing Seamus had decided against another cookie, because he began laughing at Draco’s admission. Rising and pulling Draco to his feet, he said, “Come on, I’ll help you get rid of the thing.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Draco laughed. “You’ll just set it on fire and make it worse.”

Seamus pushed Draco toward the back room, still laughing. “Hush, mate. I haven’t set a gas cloud on fire in over a year.”


	6. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry comes by Draco's shop to pick up his potions and the two manage not to snipe at or kill one another.

At eight-thirty the next morning Draco made his way down to his shop from his apartment. His tuxedo cat – an unexpected rescue from three years before – tried to scoot down the stairs with Draco. Chuckling, Draco bent down to pick her up, rubbing her ears for a moment before setting her back in the apartment.

“Sorry, Artemis. A potions shop is no place for a cat. Be good and stay out of your dad’s socks.”

Artemis had long ago picked up the habit of prying open Draco’s sock drawer and attacking them mercilessly, strewing them around the apartment and playing with them to her heart’s content. It had become a point of laughter more than contention, mostly because Artemis would always give Draco an innocent look with her gold-green eyes while looking immensely proud, as if to say, “Look, Dad, I killed the sock monsters again!”

Draco spent the next half hour puttering around his shop. He restocked particular bottles and vials that were running low, swept, and responded to a letter from a colleague who had requested his advice on brewing a particularly troublesome potion. While drafting his letter to St. Mungo’s, a light knock sounded on the glass door to the shop. Looking up, Draco saw Harry standing there, collar of his jacket hiked up against the early morning chill and hand gripping the cane tightly.

He hurried to open the door and ushered Harry inside as a light rain began to fall. It took Harry two attempts to sit down on one of the stools at the counter, swearing under his breath. Draco saw the pained look on his face and the way Harry favored his injured hip, avoiding putting too much weight on it.

“You look worse than you did on Monday, Potter. Something changed?”

“Used the last of the potions last night,” Harry bit out through clamped teeth as he tried to adjust his leg to a more suitable position.

“You idiot,” Draco said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you come by? Two of the potions were ready last night; I could have helped.”

Harry looked up, blinking in surprise, startled by Draco’s statement. “I – I didn’t know if they were ready. Didn’t want to bug you. I wasn’t much fun to be around.”

Draco looked Harry up and down as he handed the former Gryffindor one of the last cookies.

“Eat,” he ordered. “You need sugar before you faceplant.” When Harry took a tentative bite and then a larger one, Draco smiled; it seemed Mrs. Hodges had another fan. As Harry continued to eat, Draco spoke more softly this time. “I wouldn’t have been much fun either if my hip was all shot to hell and I could suddenly feel it.”

Draco sat down on the other stool, leaning forward with a more serious expression on his face.

“Listen to me, Harry.” Draco paused when Harry looked up in surprise at Draco using his first name. “These potions are only keeping the curse contained and the pain relatively dulled, nothing more. If you miss a dose or take them too far apart, the curse will spread. The more the curse spreads, the worse you’ll get, until – ”

“I die, I know,” Harry said quietly, pain evident in his eyes.

“Right,” Draco said after a moment. “Now that the lecture is out of the way, I have something to ask you.”

Draco’s lips quirked up in a smile when Harry’s brows knit together in confusion at his statement.

“These potions aren’t going to cure you; I’ve figured out that much already from brewing them. We need to find a cure. What did the boys at St. Mungo’s say when you were there?”

Harry sighed. “That I was a rare exception and very lucky they found me in time. When they discharged me a few days ago, they said that they were working on finding a solution, but weren’t having much luck – and weren’t entirely hopeful.”

“Blasted fools,” Draco muttered. “What a thing to tell a patient.”

“The potions will probably only hold the curse for a few months at the most. Maybe six or seven? If they haven’t found something by then, I won’t be quite so rare a case anymore. I’ll be The Boy Who Bit It.”

Draco snorted in derision. “That’s not going to happen.” He jabbed a finger into Harry’s shoulder. “You. Take that morbid attitude and tell it to get knackered. Right now. You’re not going anywhere.”

Harry raised one eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”

“I’ve had a bit of an idea.”

Draco filled Harry in on his discussion with Seamus from the previous afternoon. When he reached the idea that Snape might have left notes, Harry spoke once more.

“I don’t know, Draco. What little writing Severus did leave was in code or centered around other experiments that he had been working on.”

“But he _did_ leave notes?”

“Well, yeah, any self-respecting potions master would.”

Grinning, Draco said, “Excellent. Can I have a look at them? The code may be a bit tricky, but I can do my best.”

Harry raised one shoulder in assent. “Sure. Why not? I’ll have Hermione bring them over when she comes by tomorrow.”

Draco bit his lip, not sure if he should ask after Hermione, given their past relationship. Harry interpreted Draco’s expression though and answered the unasked question.

“She’s good, married Ron a few years back. They’re expecting their first kid in a few months.”

“Oh. Oh wow. Give her my – uh, well, maybe not just yet?”

Harry chuckled at Draco’s sheepish expression. “We’ll see how she feels about you when she brings the notes tomorrow. Tell her yourself then – if she doesn’t deck you.”

Rubbing his jaw ruefully, Draco smiled. “It may have been thirteen years ago, but I still remember that punch. It was a bloody good hit.”

He stood then and brought the fresh batches of Harry’s potions out from the workroom. Draco began wrapping them in tissue to protect the vials while he spoke.

“Right, so it took a few tries, but I successfully brewed enough of the potions to last you a few days. You’ll be happy to know that there were minimal explosions and swearing involved.”

Harry grinned as Draco put the bottles in a small bag for him.

“You’ve changed,” Harry said after a moment. “This town’s been good for you.”

Draco shrugged. “Fresh air and all that,” he quipped with a smile.

Harry waved him off as Draco came around the counter and reached out a hand to help him to his feet. As Draco followed him to the front door, they made the arrangements for Harry and Hermione to come by the shop the next afternoon. Holding the door open, Draco gently touched Harry’s elbow, stopping him for a moment before entering the rain.

“Maybe this town will be good for you too, Harry,” Draco said softly.

A strange blush crept up Harry’s neck and he looked away, searching for the right words.

“I hope so. See you tomorrow, Draco. Thanks again.”

The door swung shut and Harry Apparated a moment later. After he was gone, Draco smiled to himself, remembering the startled look on Harry’s face just before he left. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on Snape’s notes, but more importantly, he was excited – even if he would never admit it – to see Harry the next day. Both of them had changed and Draco found the new Harry intriguing – quieter, compelling, and somehow, handsome despite the toll the curse was taking on his body. Draco brushed his errant thoughts away as he opened his shop and greeted that morning’s customers.


End file.
